This poem is classic Ana Luísa Amaral really in its empathy with all things animate and inanimate, and in the delightful imaginative leap it takes. Tables, too, it seems, have a sense of belonging, a sense of the past and of their mortality. For me, the last few lines have taken on an added poignancy, because, alas for us, Ana Luísa did go into that same realm on 5 August 2022, but, fortunately for us, she has left us this table and so much much more.
Margaret Jull Costa on "The table" |
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"Poem Without Beginning or End"
"I think you should read Vivek Narayanan’s After, which is an erudite, funny, chaotic, absorbing book of poems that talks with, alongside, and back to the Ramayana of Valmiki. But you might not be sure. You might be saying, 'What if I don’t know anything about the Ramayana, or India?' or 'What if I never studied Sanskrit?' or 'Who is this Valmiki guy?' or 'It’s a large book. Will I be able to fit it in my bag?' If portability is your issue, please go get a bigger bag."
via FENCE |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Karen Leona Anderson on "Rat"
"To write vermin is to ask then who makes them faceless and liquid, seething, scheming, malicious, too much, over and over; who feeds them and then turns away, repulsed. (Was it me? Of course.) It’s to ask who is at home, inside; who is outside. Why vermin are women’s fault and their shadow, their shame and their labor, how making vermin is so much work to do and undo and who that work is for." |
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Write with Poetry Daily
This April, to celebrate National Poetry Month, we'll share popular writing prompts from our "What Sparks Poetry" essay series each morning. Write along with us! Think of an image (a place or thing you love), and use your x-ray vision and/or third eye to follow it into the future. Marianne Boruch |
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